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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29316726">And on Your Birthday (We'll Make a Pointless Wish)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/noondaize/pseuds/noondaize'>noondaize</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>ATEEZ (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Break Up, Breaking Up &amp; Making Up, Choi San-centric, Crying, Getting Back Together, Hurt Jung Wooyoung, Idiots in Love, Kang Yeosang is Everyone's Best Friend, M/M, Miscommunication, Personal Growth, Post-Break Up, Sad and Happy, Self-Esteem Issues, Soft Choi San, The Color Cyan, yes it deserves its own tag</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 09:28:25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,761</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29316726</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/noondaize/pseuds/noondaize</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s not a thing in sight that he could touch without feeling Wooyoung to some capacity. They were a team. They were soulmates, he thought. He’d even made the humiliating mistake of telling Wooyoung that before.</p><p> He feels ridiculous now, thinking back to the way Wooyoung’s eyes had scrunched in a long and joyful laugh. It was the younger’s birthday, he remembers.</p><p> They made a wish to stay together forever, after that.</p><p>(Wooyoung and San break up, leaving San alone with the empty space of their apartment and his own memories to deal with the aftermath.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Choi San/Jung Wooyoung</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>106</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>And on Your Birthday (We'll Make a Pointless Wish)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Yes I wrote this in like 6 hours total and I don't regret it.</p><p>I heard Hongjoong's cover of "So Long Time" again and I really got caught on one lyric: "If this is what you call a fool, I guess I am." I don't know why, but it just really struck me? Like the overall vibe of the song and everything made me really inspired so I decided to crunch out something with the vibe of it.</p><p>This is that something :) I definitely recommend listening to it while reading (stream the teezer's personal contents!!) as it'll make a better experience of it altogether.</p><p>Anyways, enjoy.</p><p>-n.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>   “Hurry, hurry!” Wooyoung’s calling over his shoulder. His bangs are too long— swept up in the wind but still somehow managing to catch over his eyes. He hides away behind them with only the apples of his cheeks to upturn with his smile. His coat is large and swallowing the entirety of his frame, sun-kissed skin starting to pale a little in the cold Winter air. It causes the blood of his body to rush into certain areas; the glow is gone in place of a permanent flush that extends from ear to ear, scattering little bits of rose and pearl across his stretched cheeks and over the bridge of his nose.</p><p> </p><p> And San is chasing after him, trying to commit all of this to memory before it eludes him.</p><p> </p><p> “Don’t run so fast!” He’s shouting, even though Wooyoung isn’t moving fast enough for him to get left behind. Still, there’s that itch beneath his skin— <em>slow down, slow down for me.</em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em>  Don’t go. </em>
</p><p> </p><p> Wooyoung’s laughing too loudly, too brightly for the cold white of the snow that’s falling, for him to know. There’s too much raining down from the heavens and pouring from his lips. The world is <em>full,</em> around San. Filled to the brim.</p><p> </p><p> He’s trying to hold it all as it slips right through the cracks of his skin. He’s trying not to drop a single thing, as it melts away between the space of his fingertips. </p><p> </p><p> “Wooyoung-ah!” He’s rushing, and the crunch of snow beneath his feet is growing louder with each passing stomp. </p><p> </p><p> “Hurry,” Wooyoung’s voice is a near whisper to him as he runs further ahead, blurring with the downpour of snow above San’s head. His fingers are reaching out towards the ticking clock winding down between them.</p><p> </p><p> His silhouette is just beyond his fingertips.</p><p> </p><p> Wooyoung is calling over his shoulder, bangs long and skin blooming, and San is just trying his best to remember.</p><p><br/>+</p><p> </p><p>  Winter is passing slowly beneath his feet, though the ground shifts nonetheless. If anything, it’s become more painful to notice all the minute changes as they happen. San thinks, awfully belated in the realization and regretful for not having caught it sooner, that maybe he should have left some changes to come alarmingly quick and overwhelm him. Then, in that sensory overload that would leave his nerves frayed, he wouldn’t particularly feel much— probably be aware of even less.</p><p> </p><p> Like the way Wooyoung’s skin has permanently shifted in the thick hue of Winter— a gray overcast powder to the rest of his otherwise dewy skin. His lips are always chapped over something or other, mouth open but tongue no longer pink. Even the flush is barely noticeable, as if it’s no longer there. He doesn’t flush in San’s presence anymore. </p><p> </p><p> When he looks at him, his bangs are covering his eyes— but there’s no smile to his resting cheeks. There’s no warmth curling around his tongue. He’s not calling his name nor even looking for him to follow. </p><p> </p><p> Wooyoung stands with the taste of coffee on his lips— something San was accustomed to tasting himself, when their tongues would meet. He’s never had to ask a day in their relationship for what’s been on Wooyoung’s tongue, because it’d flood the cavity of his own mouth soon enough. </p><p> </p><p> In some sense, even those slightly disgusting habits were something he’s been fond of. Like the rest of it; the rest of the whining, and the chasing, and need to commemorate every small achievement they ever made. All of those strange habits San finds himself acquiring for no real good reason other than to acquire them. Little leaves pressed dry between dog-eared pages of books they’ll never finish. The residue at the bottom of their dishes they take turns washing. The smell of the laundry basket wafting through their apartment as they got around to doing it late at night when the stars were barely visible. All of those little things that San’s made a habit of doing, or feeling, or just remembering— somehow moving right beneath his feet with Winter.</p><p> </p><p> Slowly, as if to tease him, just barely evading his touch.</p><p> </p><p> Wooyoung is running away from him; not too fast to be out of his sight, but somehow still giving San that feeling that he can’t catch him.</p><p> </p><p> Wooyoung doesn’t slow down for him, when he gives him that sad smile. He’s stuck to his spot and yet San feels him moving further away.</p><p> </p><p> “I hope you’ll be happy,” Wooyoung offers gently. A sweet quirk of his lips that’s gentle, loving, tender still— and it makes San wonder why he’s walking away. He looks at him no differently than he ever has.</p><p> </p><p> “Wooyoung,” he’s calling. “Maybe we should talk this out. Maybe we should—”</p><p> </p><p> “I’ve made up my mind,” Wooyoung’s putting his coat on, leaving his side of the bill, pushing his chair in. “Please respect it.” He’s shifting with his bangs, a curtain of a person sweeping over San’s window and blocking the sunlight out.</p><p> </p><p> “You don’t have to do this,” San’s whispering— but still, he’s committing it to memory. Wooyoung’s sad smile of chapped lips. His puffy jacket that swallows him and makes him look smaller than San’s ever seen him. His feet hitting the tile of the café floor as he’s moving away, away, <em>away.</em></p><p> </p><p> “I know,” he’s calling over his shoulder. “But I want to.”</p><p> </p><p> He’s walking away again, and San is just trying his best to remember.</p><p> </p><p>+</p><p> </p><p>  It takes a long, long moment of silence in his apartment for San to notice how much space Wooyoung was taking up.</p><p> </p><p> His clothes are gone, along with his shoes and his coats and everything he’s ever owned. And there’s an air of completion to it— of an unbearable finality in the sudden blank half of his life that he can’t remember existing in any capacity besides the remnants of Wooyoung that were always supposed to <em> stay</em>. Now there’s a large tear flooding his memory; little by little fraying the edges and severing the pieces of it like it’s meant to be an incomplete puzzle. The ends of everything are serrated, and San’s never been more afraid to touch a blank spot on the wall in reverence.</p><p> </p><p> The only things that stay the same are the things that he and San bought together— which hurts a lot more than if he’d just taken those too. San would much rather have the memories of them separate, of San as a spectator and Wooyoung his muse, as opposed to those where they’re pressed shoulder to shoulder on the back of a bus stealing kisses and fondling each other lightly, with adoration. Those burning, passing thoughts of dancing in the rain and running away from the stars. Those pockets of time where San had only existed with Wooyoung, and could never remove him no matter how much he wanted to.</p><p> </p><p> The ends are too jagged to touch, splitting his mind apart into opposing sides of fading memory and haunting shadows. The wish to forget and the fear of suddenly never remembering.</p><p> </p><p> All of those belongings scream at him— <em>I’m here, I’m here, you will never see me leave.</em></p><p> </p><p> And San can only do his best to try and remember it fondly, lest he break down again.</p><p> </p><p> He’s placing his coat on one half of the rack emptily, and tossing his shoes to his side of the entryway. It bothers him now, how they had unintentionally designated spaces for one another without really talking about it. It wasn’t necessarily<em> ‘mine and yours’</em>— but the notion of two sides to one whole still rings true through every little crack San’s run his fingers over. There’s not a thing in sight that he could touch without feeling Wooyoung to some capacity. They were a team. They were soulmates, he thought. He’d even made the humiliating mistake of telling Wooyoung that before.</p><p> </p><p> He feels ridiculous now, thinking back to the way Wooyoung’s eyes had scrunched in a long and joyful laugh. It was the younger’s birthday, he remembers.</p><p> </p><p> They made a wish to stay together forever, after that.</p><p> </p><p> He’s placing his bag down on the table when he notices the way the coasters are arranged on the opposite side of where they normally are. A peeve they’ve exchanged meaninglessly heated conversations over. Where to put things, who got control over what, how they’d function as two in a space that was slowly melting into that of one— all of those painfully prominent memories come rushing back. Biting his tongue because Wooyoung had a tendency to get heated. Biting his lip because he knew he would make Wooyoung all the more angry for no real reason other than to rile him up. </p><p> </p><p> And now, biting down harshly on a part of his hand to avoid sobbing aloud.</p><p> </p><p> He wonders, behind the haze of self-pity and the rest of emptiness that’s begging to be filled up, if some of those things played a role. He wonders what it means to have a rose tint on life— if he’s had one this entire time without knowing a thing.</p><p> </p><p> Their spaces of designated halves mold into that of a split-up home. He wonders if what they had was two sides of the same coin, or a heart torn in two.</p><p><br/>+</p><p> </p><p>  Besides the lament of his breakup, San spends the rest of his time doing things normally. He tries to eat, sleep, and shower the same as he did before. As empty as every movement leaves him, he doesn’t want to squander all the space that Wooyoung left behind. He’d driven Wooyoung out, if anything. If it were really that way, then the least he could do to placate his inner guilt is make good use of the rest of his life. He thinks Wooyoung would like that too, so he does it.</p><p> </p><p> Yeosang stops by a few weeks later. San expects something— a slap to the face or curses bouncing off the walls— something that Yeosang would say in defense of his best friend so that San could wake up and see what’s wrong with himself. San expects something like that.</p><p> </p><p> In place of a harsh wake-up call, he gets a hug the moment he opens the door.</p><p> </p><p> Yeosang is gentle with him, when he rubs his cheek with a petite thumb. He’s gentle when he leads him to the couch and makes sure his shoes are off. He just sits there, with gentle eyes, surveying San’s form up and down a few times.</p><p> </p><p> “I don’t know how he could do this to you,” Yeosang’s voice murmurs. It sounds like the ocean waves, sloshing back and forth between thick bundles of foam. There’s bubbles popping in the way it cracks at the end, and San feels like the shore it’s washed upon.</p><p> </p><p> “He’s an idiot,” Yeosang laughs— but it’s wet, wet like there’s still the deeper shades of cyan coating it in streams of the current. Wet like he wants to cry but won’t— feels he doesn’t deserve to, maybe. “Please forgive him, San-ah.”</p><p> </p><p><em> There’s nothing to forgive,</em> San wants to say. Forgiveness implies Wooyoung made a mistake. He’s not without conscience enough to go as far as to say Wooyoung’s decision to end things with him was a mistake.</p><p> </p><p> Maybe he also agrees that it was the right thing to do, deep down.</p><p> </p><p> “It’s nice to see you,” San says instead. The thought doesn’t even reside in his head, about much of anything. He gives Yeosang a greeting that must be his body acting on instinct, considering the way he rises to move to the kitchen.</p><p> </p><p> “Do you want some tea?” He calls to him, empty and lifeless and still somehow filling the kettle with liquid. He’s doing it all without having a single thought. He’s doing it without any emotions running through him.</p><p> </p><p> “San…” Yeosang is following behind him, turning him lightly by the shoulder and looking into his eyes. And he’s gentle, when he lifts a finger up. Gentle, when he catches a tear that falls without San knowing it will.</p><p> </p><p> “Don’t do this to yourself,” Yeosang whispers. “Please. You two should talk it out.”</p><p> </p><p> “We don’t have a lot of flavors,” San says— and then there’s a choked noise coming from his throat, and he’s spilling over onto the tile floors, and he’s just remembering the time he dropped a pot on it and he and Wooyoung had jokingly fought for hours about whether or not the crack beneath his feet has always been there.</p><p> </p><p> It’s almost comedic to him now. In that same spot where he’d been laughing about a crack, he’s now crying mindlessly while he stares at it and thinks he should get it repaired. He doesn’t really feel <em>sad</em>, even as he cries— his brain is just swirling between the different flavors of tea in his cabinet and whether or not he really had made that crack that day.</p><p> </p><p> “San-ah,” Yeosang smiles at him sadly. He’s crouching down, down, <em>down</em>— and San wonders when it was he’d fallen to his knees on the floor.</p><p> </p><p> “Maybe we should get you some help,” Yeosang says softly. “Come out a little. You’ve been stuck in here since Wooyoung left.”</p><p> </p><p> San knows, reasonably, that he should move out of the apartment. He should pack his things and get rid of every trace of Wooyoung, and move on. Because people like him are supposed to move on. They’re supposed to go away.</p><p> </p><p> Wooyoung’s chasing the snow behind his eyelids— <em>“hurry, hurry!”</em></p><p> </p><p> San’s <em>supposed</em> to abandon that.</p><p> </p><p> “You know,” San says, voice wobbly and tears still running down. His lips no longer quiver, and all things considered, his facial gestures are schooled into a blank expression. </p><p> </p><p> But his throat continues to waver, and his eyes continue to run— and he’s not sad, so why does his body still pour over like this?</p><p> </p><p> “You know,” he tries again, “I really wish we had changed our color palette to cyan. The kitchen would look much nicer that way.”</p><p> </p><p> Yeosang makes a confused expression, before it settles down into another melancholy grin.</p><p> </p><p> “You wanna go shopping with me to get some cyan-colored kitchenware?” Yeosang prompts him, just to make something of this moment. San nods wordlessly, tired but still somehow rising to his feet.</p><p> </p><p> “Let’s have some tea later,” Yeosang whispers to him. He’s emptying the kettle into the sink and putting it back, before grabbing San and pulling him into a hug.</p><p> </p><p> “It’s gonna be alright,” he sighs into San’s shoulder. “We’re gonna get through this just fine.”</p><p> </p><p> San thinks about Wooyoung’s birthday, where they were wrapped around a small cardboard box flipped onto its opening so they could use it as a makeshift table. Their furniture hadn’t been ready yet by then, and their list still had a long way to go before being completed.</p><p> </p><p> “You gonna make a wish?” San had laughed, watching Wooyoung already leaning to blow the candle out.</p><p> </p><p> “Yeah,” he smiled back. “Probably something shitty but practical. Adult wishes are <em>great.”</em></p><p> </p><p> He draws the ‘great’ out along an infinite breath, somehow pulling all of that oxygen right back in to blow the candles out not even a moment later.</p><p> </p><p> “What’d you wish for?” San asks him. But he knows, deep down. He knows the wish that Wooyoung made— the one that he’d tell him later. The one that sticks on the inside of his palate like a stain, including the word <em>‘soulmate’</em> smeared in the red lipstick he would put on and pout in for sake of kisses and laughter.</p><p> </p><p> But just to be a nuisance, in that moment Wooyoung sticks his tongue out at him and shoves a plastic fork into the surface of the cake. “A cyan-colored coffee maker.”</p><p> </p><p> “Boring,” San had laughed at him loudly. But he’s committing the moment to memory as Wooyoung shovels cake into his mouth, thinking that the expense wasn’t so big he’d need to wish for it. He could make Wooyoung’s pointless wish come true as a gift for Christmas.</p><p> </p><p> About that much, Yeosang doesn’t need to know.</p><p> </p><p>+</p><p> </p><p>  Because San finds solace in considering himself pathetic, he completes many small gestures of affection towards Wooyoung that can no longer be received nor reciprocated. To a point, there’s an added layer of comfort and less pressure, but to another— San knows he’s just doing this to satisfy his still-yearning heart. There’s an ache that doesn’t fade as he arranges his clothes in a rainbow pattern the way Wooyoung had liked it. There’s an itch beneath his skin as he bathes in that milky lavender soak that Wooyoung enjoys the scent of. There’s something always looming over him as he does so many things, all in ode to Wooyoung’s memory, but still feels nothing besides a permanent form of fatigue. </p><p> </p><p> Yeosang becomes a constant fixture alongside the fatigue, consistent in his need to make sure San is operating just a little above lifeless and without aim. He does a good job at making San smile time to time, which becomes a trait that people take to happily. He becomes <em>‘reserved’</em> and <em>‘shy’</em> among the newcomers Yeosang tries to introduce him to. That’s how they know his character. Cutely quiet and forever a blushing red; easily overwhelmed and sweetly generous with every little movement. They like San because San is submissive to a fault and an excellent listener, though no one seems to notice the way a long drawn-out conversation makes his eyes droop, and his smile is forever twitchy along with the rest of him.</p><p> </p><p> San appreciates the new people he meets— appreciates even more the way Yeosang stops asking him after every outing if he’s feeling alright— but the ache never really fades.</p><p> </p><p> Winter leaves abruptly like San had hoped it would, and the flowers are beginning to bloom again. Yet still, all San can wonder about is whether or not Wooyoung’s skin has begun to glow warmly again, the way it does in his happier memories.</p><p><br/>+</p><p> </p><p>  He gets enough of a spine to ask Yeosang, two months into the mist of Spring, how Wooyoung is doing in life and love.</p><p> </p><p> Yeosang doesn’t seem particularly surprised by it, yet still he gives him a look of disbelief when he asks it so blandly. Just a simple<em> ‘how is Wooyoung doing?’</em> that makes Yeosang stop mid-bite in his meal.</p><p> </p><p> “He’s alright I guess,” Yeosang frowns. “We haven’t talked much in awhile.”</p><p> </p><p> That much is news to San, who slows his chew and feels his heart constrict strangely. In their time as friends, not a day went by where Wooyoung didn’t talk to Yeosang. It’s the reason why he and San became close too— people in relation to one another who not only had a mutual connection, but a mutually obsessive and <em>clingy</em> connection that wanted them to love one another just as much as he loved them both. They took to each other rather quickly too, and from then the connection was often fondly considered to be that of three, rather than two and one’s best friend.</p><p> </p><p> There was never a point where Wooyoung had retreated from both of them, though right now it sounds that way.</p><p> </p><p> “Did...anything happen?” San asks lightly, suddenly feeling like a stranger to the affairs that take place outside of himself. When was the last time he tapped into the real world besides his moments of relating self-loathing to what happens around him?</p><p> </p><p> “Not that I can tell you in detail,” Yeosang sighs. “But after you two...<em>parted</em>, Wooyoung seemed to grow a little less enthusiastic about life overall. He wouldn’t even give me his new address until I pestered him about the honesty that’s always helped our friendship thrive. Even then, he seemed pissed about it.”</p><p> </p><p> “Where does he live now?” </p><p> </p><p> Yeosang tenses at that, shaking his head and turning downwards towards his plate. “I don’t think I’m allowed to say that much. I’m sorry, San.”</p><p> </p><p> And as much— as painstakingly, deeply and intensely <em>much</em>— as San would like to be angry and press for answers, he can’t. He respects Wooyoung and Yeosang both, and he respects their individual affairs too. </p><p> </p><p> Maybe that’s part of growing up and letting go. He doesn’t have control of everything— can’t catch everything as it’s running away from him.</p><p> </p><p> Some things were forever going to remain out of reach.</p><p> </p><p> “It’s alright,” he smiles softly. “Don’t worry about it. I’m sorry you two don’t talk too much anymore.”</p><p> </p><p> Yeosang laughs lightly at that, voice an octave so warmly low that the sound is welcomed to San’s ears.</p><p> </p><p> He wonders, somewhere in the back of his mind, if he’s the only one who’s been stuck with the memory of Wooyoung on loop— just permanently trying to remember, so that such a flighty and temperamental moment of happiness isn’t gone forever once it’s left him.</p><p><br/>+</p><p> </p><p>  He really does make peace months later, when it’s hot in Summer and they’re throwing a joint celebration for both Yeosang and San’s birthdays in the middle of them. The rest of their friends that Yeosang had made a point of bringing into San’s life now know him truly, having seen bit for bit the way he’s come out of his shell. They all take a special form of loving to him, and he’s reciprocated it all right back openly and kindly.</p><p> </p><p> They’re in the kitchen together, all seven of them attempting to cram into the small space, when San catches sight of the cyan-colored coffee maker.</p><p> </p><p> And for once, the thought of Wooyoung doesn’t hurt. It’s just a simple passing thought—<em> ‘I’m glad he picked this color’</em>— that comes and goes like a small flutter. And then he’s grabbing the plates that he remembers they needed for the cake, and he’s in his living room trying to escape the hoard of people still filtering out of raiding his fridge. It’s light and warm, as the sun drifts in through the window and one of their friends— Mingi— is saying something ridiculous at the top of his lungs while they plug in a portable karaoke machine. His screams only become amplified with the speaker, which is quickly encouraged by everyone in the room who’s a little too loud and a little too happy. San joins them too, and he doesn’t feel alone.</p><p> </p><p> And when he blows out the candle, he wishes lightly for life to keep going forward like this. With the memories he makes forever staying true, even as they fade away. With the wish that life continues to offer him many opportunities just like this one, to make a billion more happy wishes that are all as pointless as they are worth it.</p><p><br/>+</p><p> </p><p>  At the end of Summer, Autumn falls in a quick rush between his fingers that’s eager to leave. It feels as though it only lasts a second before Winter is shifting in again, and he’s left in the cold of white snow as he’s walking alone down a long street.</p><p> </p><p> Things have been passing normally for him. His home is now full of little trinkets and memories of every single one of his friends, draped over years of relationship and heartbreak and renewal. San no longer looks at passing cafes or his apartment door with bitter scorn. Everything has become, in some way or form, a reflection of him. Every up and down, and every moment where he’s needed to make peace with his apologetic mind. It all exists in every single thing he does, and he’s no longer one to fight that.</p><p> </p><p> The snow is piling on thick as he finally looks up from his feet, noticing the way this road looks all too familiar to him. By now, the majority of his travels are spent with the thought of his destination on his mind alone, leaving little room for any memories to pop up as he moves out of instinct.</p><p> </p><p> But he recognizes this street.</p><p> </p><p> <em>Somewhere in another life,</em> he thinks, <em>am I still trying to catch up to Wooyoung here. I’m running after him. Running and running and trying to— </em></p><p> </p><p> “Choi San?” A voice falls from behind him, raining down with the snow that’s slowly starting to pick up in its downpour. </p><p> </p><p> True to his memory, Wooyoung is a pale rose that trembles in the oncoming breeze like a petal. His eyes are dark in a way that San could never praise— dark like they were aimless. Dark like they held neither stars nor wishes.</p><p> </p><p> From here, they look dark like the sky after a star explodes upon itself and leaves only dust behind.</p><p> </p><p> “Hey,” San greets, a chill running up his spine that has nothing to do with the cold. When Wooyoung approaches him, he feels his body twitch in the instinct to move back. Something about <em>this</em> Wooyoung frightens him.</p><p> </p><p> “Hey,” Wooyoung calls breathlessly. Up close, San can see the way the fade of the Winter sky has wormed its way into his skin. It’s not a blanket of gray coating the top now. This <em>is</em> his skin, all the way down to his bones.</p><p> </p><p> San feels his eyes widen.</p><p> </p><p> “What happened to you?” He’s whispering, looking Wooyoung over with as gentle a look as he can muster. He doesn’t want him to feel bad after meeting for the first time in a while. He doesn’t want Wooyoung to regret stopping by him and not just walking behind him like a shadow with no presence. </p><p> </p><p> “I don’t know,” Wooyoung is whispering, and his voice is cracking apart at the seams and falling into the bottomless pit of San’s stomach. Something is <em>wrong. </em></p><p> </p><p> “Wooyoung?” He calls to him, leaning forward and pressing his fingers to his sunken cheeks, trying to ignore the way he feels the poor flesh deflate. He doesn’t want to think about what’s gotten Wooyoung to this point, but not in a million years would he ever leave him behind on his own like this. He loves Wooyoung— and he’s made peace with that. He loves Wooyoung, and it’s not a detriment. He doesn’t have to move on; he can continue to live his life with this love guarded sweetly inside of him. </p><p> </p><p> “Let’s go home,” he coos gently. “Let’s go home and we can get you something to eat.”</p><p> </p><p> “San-ah—” and Wooyoung’s crying onto his fingers, pouring endlessly from his dark eyes onto the snow. If San were any more blindsided than he is right now, seeing someone as strong as Wooyoung shattering like glass in his hands, he’d think his tears to be running the same shade of inky black as his eyes pool. “San-ah, I missed you.”</p><p> </p><p> San smiles at him gently, with that same sense of love and tenderness that Wooyoung had shown him even up until the end.</p><p> </p><p> “I missed you too. Now let’s go home.”</p><p><br/>+</p><p> </p><p>  Wooyoung takes a lot of coaxing to make comfortable, even in what was once his own home.</p><p> </p><p> He’s timid to a fault— just as San had been after they first broke up. He’s careful with what he does or doesn’t touch as if there’s an invisible list of rules and rights that he can’t afford to break. He stares for a long time at the small cat-shaped coasters San had bought to replace their old ones, now set in piles on opposite sides of the coffee table.</p><p> </p><p> “You always complained about what side it goes on,” he says softly when he catches him staring. “So I decided to make the compromise of putting them on both.”</p><p> </p><p> Wooyoung doesn’t say anything to that, but San sees the way his lips quiver.  </p><p> </p><p> San is kind to him as he lets him settle onto what was once his side of the couch— now decorated with a folded blanket or two that his younger friend Jongho had gifted him. It looked a lot less empty, though the sudden sight of Wooyoung there brings back a flood of memories that he has to shake away from his shoulders.</p><p> </p><p> “It’s coffee,” San murmurs as he offers him a filled mug. “I made it the way you used to like it, if that’s still your favorite.”</p><p> </p><p> “It is,” Wooyoung says absentmindedly, but he doesn’t say anything more.</p><p> </p><p> For a moment they drink in silence— Wooyoung with his coffee and San with a bit of tea. Some old habits die hard, and purchasing Wooyoung’s favorite coffee packets since he’d gotten the coffee maker was one of them. Wooyoung had never even had the chance to try it, since he’d been long gone by then, but something in San had never felt right unless he was stocked up on them.</p><p> </p><p> (It was fine. Hongjoong would drink any and all coffee he found in the cabinets anyway.)</p><p> </p><p> “How’ve you been?” San finds himself asking— a broad blanket statement that doesn’t poke directly at the obvious wound Wooyoung’s bearing. But still, he’s sure deep down they hear that intent loud and clear.</p><p> </p><p> “I spent my birthday alone this year,” Wooyoung says quietly. San doesn’t know what to do, or say, or even think about the way he stares down his mug and doesn’t twitch at all. </p><p> </p><p> “It’s the first time in a long time,” he continues. “To spend my birthday alone.”</p><p> </p><p> “We’ve been together for too long for that to happen,” San shrugs. “But things change, don’t they?”</p><p> </p><p> Wooyoung looks like he’s going to cry right into his coffee.</p><p> </p><p><em> “Yeah,”</em> he whimpers. “Things change.”</p><p> </p><p> There’s an obvious sense of want between them; on San’s end, the want for answers and explanation, and on Wooyoung’s, a frighteningly potent sense of <em>yearning</em>. What he’s yearning for, San doesn’t know. It’s even stranger considering there was nothing from San he could want that the older wouldn’t have readily given. There were no barriers, nor were there any secrets.</p><p> </p><p> But looking at Wooyoung now, with his dark and sunken eyes, maybe that hadn’t always been the case.</p><p> </p><p> “You should take a bath,” San sighs. “The snow seeps through clothing very easily, and you look cold as is.”</p><p> </p><p> “I don’t want to take up space—”</p><p> </p><p> San scoffs, shaking his head. “It’s not taking up space. Half of it used to be yours, you know.”</p><p> </p><p> Wooyoung frowns to that, and even when he looks up at San, it feels as if he’s looking right through him.</p><p> </p><p> Or better yet, it feels as if he can’t see a single thing.</p><p> </p><p> “San-ah,” he’s murmuring. “Do you think we could have done it any different?”</p><p> </p><p> San smiles at him, pulling the top layer of his clothing off and watching the way Wooyoung is pliant and patient as he does so. He doesn’t question the sudden touch to his body— just lets San do as he pleases, the way he always has.</p><p> </p><p> “We’ve already done what we’ve done,” San says gently. “No use in worrying about that now. Go take a shower.”</p><p> </p><p> Wooyoung looks like he wants to say something, mouth opening and closing repeatedly, but eventually he nods and picks his body up to head towards the bathroom.</p><p> </p><p> Of course, San doesn’t have to tell him where everything is for him to remember.</p><p><br/>+</p><p> </p><p>  Wooyoung comes out of the shower clad in some of San’s clothing that he’d stolen away for himself, since San hadn’t provided him a change of clothing regardless. In a sense, maybe he’d subconsciously been putting up twisted tests for Wooyoung to pass— that of pushing his barriers and re-assessing himself with the familiarity of the place. San offered nothing, hoping to observe Wooyoung readily taking it for himself as he would have a long time ago. A proof that although things change, there’s a lot of smaller things that stay the same.</p><p> </p><p> Wishes that remain pointless, but are wishes nonetheless.</p><p> </p><p> “Your skin has a bit more warmth,” San hums as he studies Wooyoung’s cheeks. They’re a bright red along with the tip of his nose, which continues to twitch up and down in sniffles. It’s only when he brings up a finger to touch at his earlobe that San realizes Wooyoung is sick— because his ears turn a bright red every single time he’s come down with a cold.</p><p> </p><p> He sighs at him, shooing him away to the kitchen where he promises to make them some dinner. Wooyoung doesn’t oppose him.</p><p> </p><p> San’s movements are quiet and careful as he makes something. Back when they were a couple, it was usually the other way around: Wooyoung behind the stove with practiced movements, and San watching excitedly over his shoulder with the first promises of taste testing and nibbling on things while they were being cooked. It used to be a lively scene, though now Wooyoung’s no better than a ghost with the way he confines himself to the corner and continues to stare at San with his strangely fixed eyes.</p><p> </p><p> “Please quit <em>staring</em> at me like that,” San whines halfway through, turning around and jolting with a lasting set of tremors at Wooyoung’s stillness. “It’s freaking me the hell out!”</p><p> </p><p> “Sorry,” Wooyoung mumbles. “It’s just...the kitchen…”</p><p> </p><p> “What about the kitchen?”</p><p> </p><p> “It’s cyan,” Wooyoung whispers. There’s tears pooling in his eyes as he says it, quick to try and catch what falls with his hands. “You remembered.”</p><p> </p><p> “All I’ve ever done is remember,” San sighs at him. “Do you remember a time where I didn’t?”</p><p> </p><p> “Why couldn’t you just be normal and <em>forget</em>,” Wooyoung huffs.</p><p> </p><p> At that, San bristles.</p><p> </p><p> “<em>Forget?</em> You wanted me to forget someone who was a permanent part of my life since we were kids? Do you think it’s as easy as you packing your shit and leaving? Don’t tell me to <em>forget</em> just because you were so eager to erase it!”</p><p> </p><p> Wooyoung’s only crying harder now, dropping down to his haunches and crossing his arms around his head. San’s torn between yelling at him more and comforting him— though both are thrown out the window when Wooyoung looks up at him and for the first time, his eyes are beginning to sparkle.</p><p> </p><p> “I suffered too,” he says, strained. “I hurt and cried and whined a lot! But I didn’t know it would hurt you this much so now I feel bad!”</p><p> </p><p> “How the hell wouldn’t it have hurt me this much!” San’s yelling back at him, but it sounds more like a whiny complaint than anything of scorn. “You just up and left out of nowhere and I had to learn to live with that!”</p><p> </p><p> “I thought I wasn’t that important!” Wooyoung’s yelling back at him.</p><p> </p><p> It makes San still.</p><p> </p><p> “You think you’re not that important?” He drops down with Wooyoung, noticing as he glances down that that crack in the tile is still there.</p><p> </p><p> He smiles.</p><p> </p><p> “You’ve always been the most important person to me,” San sighs. “That’s why it hurt so much when you left. That’s also why I remembered so much about you and the things you loved.”</p><p> </p><p> “I’m not even half as decent as I should be for you,” Wooyoung sniffles at him, trying to hide his running nose and his leaking eyes. It’s a gross sight, but San’s never felt anything but love towards him. “I’m not even half as good as anyone you could have had.”</p><p> </p><p> San rolls his eyes, leaning close and bumping their foreheads together.</p><p> </p><p> “Is that why you broke up with me?”</p><p> </p><p> “I was always running really fast,” he says as he shoves back towards San. “And when I realized how little time I gave you to catch up, I started questioning myself. If I loved you, why would I let myself continue to do that to you?”</p><p> </p><p> San feels his own eyes tear up at that.</p><p> </p><p> It’s an odd feeling that overtakes his heart— one of this melancholy regret for what he’d thought of Wooyoung. This self-centered fear that what <em>he</em> did was the shortcoming, that what he’d done incorrectly was what drove Wooyoung out.</p><p> </p><p> As much as his self-pity stretched itself, San can’t help but feel he was blinded by the rage of separation and in his haze, had failed to see any problems that had lied on Wooyoung’s half of the world.</p><p> </p><p> “Yeosang and I fought about it too,” Wooyoung laughs. The vibration shoots through their combined body, suddenly melted into one with the joint flesh they’re both equally inhabiting. Everything <em>half this</em> and<em> half that</em>— but now San thinks it can just be wholly them.</p><p> </p><p> “He said I was always too fickle,” Wooyoung’s voice is sad, but there’s a smile playing on his lips from what San can see. His cheeks stretching upwards with his bangs still continuing to cover his eyes. “He told me that it was hard to be close to me if someone didn’t know what was going on— and that for how much I claimed I loved you, I didn’t even give you a chance to help me before I walked away on my own. He got really passionate about my inconsistency and then one day, he just stopped calling me. He was effectively telling me to get my shit together— which evidently enough, I really haven’t, have I?”</p><p> </p><p> “At least you see your mistakes now,” San snorts against him. “You see what you did wrong, and now all that’s left is to fix it.”</p><p> </p><p> “But you can’t do it any different,” Wooyoung pulls away. “You said that yourself.”</p><p> </p><p> San’s rising to his feet and rolling his eyes, the stove still cooking over what’s essentially boiled water. He turns it off in favor of saying anything, only turning back to Wooyoung when he’s got everything cleared away.</p><p> </p><p> “Because you <em>can’t</em> do it any different. But you can learn to start doing it differently from now on.”</p><p> </p><p> Memories were made, and then gone. That’s the way of the world. Sand continues to slip through the hourglass, and the clock continues to wind down, and some things never come within reach. That’s how things are. </p><p> </p><p> But San smiles at Wooyoung and offers his hands up— a small wish that to some might be pointless, but to him is very much worth all of the little loops in their timeframe that he’s been sealing up tight.</p><p> </p><p> “We can’t change the past memories we’ve already made,” San says with a grin, “But we do have the chance to make a lot of better memories in the future. I’m giving you that chance.”</p><p> </p><p> Wooyoung’s hands are glowing honey and sunshine when they’re placed in San’s, who enjoys the soft contrast of their natural blush as they hold one another tight.</p><p> </p><p> He thinks back to the way Wooyoung had smiled at him back then, around that cardboard table with cake shoved between his teeth.</p><p> </p><p> And they had promised to stay together after that.</p><p><br/>+++</p><p> </p><p>  “Hurry!” Wooyoung’s calling over his shoulder. The Spring sun is beating down on them in one of the rarer moments where the clouds are not pouring in rain. It’s a particularly hot day where Wooyoung’s skin is a dewy shade of gold, but San doesn’t mind the heat or the sweat when he’s calling to him sweetly.</p><p> </p><p> “Hurry, hurry!” He tries again, giddy to the bottom of his sneakers as he stomps in place. San is laughing at him, rushing forward towards Wooyoung’s outstretched hands, and reveling in the feeling of their palms sliding together. </p><p> </p><p> “You’re so impatient,” he chastises him, but it’s light and airy with the reverence he holds for Wooyoung’s blooming flush. “Yeosang can wait a few minutes.”</p><p> </p><p> “You and I both know that if we’re even five minutes late he’ll ditch us and make us get a cab,” he pouts. “He loves me, but his wallet doesn’t.”</p><p> </p><p> “Or maybe he just doesn’t want to anticipate driving your big mouth for forty minutes to get to the beach,” San murmurs, snorting when Wooyoung shoves his shoulder roughly and lets go of his hand.</p><p> </p><p> He’s running forward, looking behind his silhouette and calling for San again— the rays of the sun a spotlight on his warm skin. His bangs are swept up and tucked behind his ears, revealing his shining eyes that make San’s heart stutter.</p><p> </p><p> “I don’t want to be late!” Wooyoung says as he pouts at him, but his smile is embedded down to the bone where Winter used to be. “You better hurry up and catch up to me!” </p><p> </p><p> And San’s feet are hitting the ground with the crunch of grass and dirt below them filling his ears, though Wooyoung’s laughter is a much sweeter song.</p><p> </p><p> Wooyoung is grinning over his shoulder, bangs long and skin glowing, and San is smiling so hard his cheeks are burning— this sight being something he wants to always remember.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Come pester me about stuff on <a href="https://twitter.com/sanniedaize">Twitter!</a> I'd love to make some writer/reader friends and my DMs are always open &lt;3</p><p>Comments and kudos aren't necessitated, but they're extremely useful for feedback and I like knowing I'm not posting into the abyss. They also really brighten my mood! If you want to, feel free to leave some!</p><p>-n.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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